The Mammoth Book of Scottish Romance

by Trisha Telep

  “You, bitch! How dare you mark my face,” he bellowed.

  Just when Niall would have stepped towards her, a horse reared, kicking him with its hooves and sending him spinning backwards. The other horses began to dance around, the scent of blood and shouts from the men spooking them.

  Jean backed away, careful not to run into any of the men locked in combat. When she looked to where Niall had fallen, she couldn’t find him.

  She searched everywhere to no avail. He was gone.

  Suddenly, a large hand wrapped around her arm. Jean raised her fist, prepared to strike whoever dared to touch her, only to find herself staring into startling blue eyes framed by thick black lashes.

  She looked her fill at Braden’s square jaw and high forehead, his aquiline nose, and his wide lips. She liked how his lower lip was fuller than the top. She found herself staring at his mouth as she forgot everything but the man holding her.

  “Are you hurt?” Braden asked.

  Jean shook her head slowly, struck anew at the presence of Braden MacAlister. Blood coated him, but she didn’t know if it was his or that of his opponents.

  Braden glanced around. “Where is MacDougall?”

  “I … I struck him. The horses reared and kicked him, and then he was gone.”

  “Shite. He cannot have gone far.”

  Jean watched and Braden motioned some of his men to follow as he scouted for Niall’s trail. Niall’s guards, those who had dared to stand against the great Braden MacAlister, had all been killed, their bodies lying still upon the ground.

  She swallowed the bile in her throat and lifted her skirts running towards the wagon and the other prisoners. Jean jerked at the lock, hoping to find it open. Unfortunately, the guards hadn’t been as stupid as she’d hoped.

  “Damn,” she murmured and slammed her hand against the wood.

  “Is there a problem?”

  Jean whirled around at the deep voice to find one of Braden’s men, all meaty shoulders and barrel chest. “I cannot unlock the wagon.”

  The man smiled, showing even white teeth and a twinkle in his dark brown gaze. “Allow me, lass.”

  Jean stepped aside. As soon as she was out of the way, the man slammed the hilt of his sword against the lock. It busted open spectacularly and the chain fell away.

  Braden’s man opened the door for the captives, but no one moved. They were petrified with fear. Jean stood beside the Highlander and smiled, calling into the wagon to the terrified women and children.

  “It’s all right,” she told them and she held out her hand. “You can come out now.”

  In moments, she was surrounded by the rest of Braden’s men, helping her encourage the rest of the women and children out of the wagon. Jean found water skins and hurried to pass those around.

  One warrior moved to her side. “Why did MacDougall take all of you?”

  “To ensure that my clansmen did as he wanted.”

  “Foul bastard,” the man said with a curl of his lip. “What clan, lass?”

  “MacKay. I’m Jean MacKay.”

  “Well, Jean, lass,” he said with a friendly smile. “I’m Keith MacAlister, at your service. I’m thinking Braden will want to escort you and the others back to your clan.”

  Jean let out a sigh of relief, but before she could thank him, a shout drew their attention. She followed Keith to a circle of men who gathered around one of their fallen brothers on the ground. It took only one look at the gaping wound for Jean to nudge the men aside and decide on a course of action.

  “Let me tend him,” she said as she knelt beside the warrior. The cut on his leg went clean to the bone. Jean licked her lips and glanced over her shoulder at Keith. “I’m going to need water and bandages. And needle and thread.”

  Keith let out a deep breath, his eyes troubled. “We have no needle and thread here.”

  “The wound is too deep. I must stop the bleeding.”

  “Bind Colin’s leg for now,” said a deep voice to her right. “We must get moving.”

  Jean jerked her head around to find Braden watching her. Something was stuffed in her hand. Jean had no choice but to turn her attention back to the wounded man. With Keith’s help she was able to bind the wound as tightly as she could. It would staunch the blood, but not for long.

  She rose as the others lifted Colin into the wagon. Jean looked at the women and children gathered in a tight circle, then to Braden. Someone needed to go along to tend Colin’s wound and she knew she could help.

  Jean squared her shoulders and walked to Braden. He paused in his conversation with Keith and another man when he caught sight of her.

  She waited until the other two warriors walked away before she spoke to Braden.

  “I can help Colin. He’s going to need to be stitched.”

  One side of Braden’s lips tilted in a small smile. “We’ve learned to mend each other’s wounds.”

  “I’ve no doubt, but Colin’s wound is to the bone. A fever will most likely set in. You will need someone to watch him.”

  “Why would you want to help?”

  She understood his suspicion, even if she didn’t like it. “You and your men are trying to help all of us. You need every man you have for your continued attacks on Niall. You’ve already got Colin down and several others wounded. Would you leave yet another fighter behind to watch Colin?”

  For long, heart-racing moments Braden stared at her, his striking blue eyes made only brighter by the paint still visible on his face. “If, for even a moment, I think you are spying on us …”

  “I‘m not,” she said before he could finish. “I only want to help.”

  “So be it, Jean MacKay.”

  Two

  Jean wiped her brow with the back of her hand. Her lower back ached from leaning over Colin’s prone form and wiping his fevered skin. The dwelling they were in was nothing more than tartans strung together around thick poles. A tent, but a roomy enough one.

  She had no idea how long she had been in Braden’s camp. He’d covered her eyes to prevent her from seeing the direction they rode. She would never have told anyone where the camp was located, but he hadn’t believed her.

  Not that she blamed him.

  Jean leaned back and arched her spine, her hands at her lower back. She blew out a breath, concern knotting her stomach. Colin hadn’t improved since they had arrived.

  She’d cleaned and stitched his wound, but the fever had set in much too quickly for her liking. All she could do now was pray he was strong enough to overcome the fever.

  “You need to rest.”

  Jean whirled around at the sound of the voice. She licked her lips and watched the tall, thickly-built Highlander move into the tent and stand beside her.

  Keith and Braden were rarely separated – it was obvious Keith was Braden’s right hand, the man Braden most depended on.

  “You concern should be with your friend,” Jean said.

  Keith grunted and placed his large hand on Colin’s forehead. “It is my concern for him that gives voice to the obvious. You are exhausted. You will do Colin no good if you collapse.”

  “I would never.” Jean rose to her feet and clenched her hands. “I gave my word that I would look after him.”

  The slow smile that pulled at Keith’s lips only increased her irritation. “You’ve got a temper. Good. It’ll keep Braden on his toes.”

  Jean blinked, unsure she heard him correctly. “What did you say?”

  “There’s food awaiting, lass. Get some before it’s gone. I’ll stay with Colin for a wee bit.”

  Keith quickly occupied the stool beside the cot. Jean took a step back, stunned, before she turned and exited the tent. Once outside, she paused and surveyed the camp. She had known Braden had many followers, but she hadn’t realized just how many fought with him.

  The number was staggering. The sheer quantity of tents that dotted that hilltop and surrounding valley left her in awe. It would only be a matter of time now before Niall MacDouga
ll was gone forever.

  Her stomach growled, and she wasted no time in getting food. She sighed as the last bite slid down her throat. The meal would fortify her. She hadn’t realized how weary she had been until that moment.

  Jean rose and started back to Colin when she caught sight of a large dwelling near the centre of camp. As someone exited the tent, she spotted Braden within.

  Before she knew it, she was standing before his tent. Jean hesitated only a moment before she lifted the tartan and ducked inside. She let the material fall silently closed behind her as her gaze roamed over the inside of the dwelling.

  To the right were two chairs facing each other. Off to the back was the MacAlister tartan spread on the ground for Braden’s bed. To the right was a chest. In the middle of the tent was a table where a map was spread out with Braden leaning over it, absorbed in his thoughts.

  Gone was the blue paint that had covered his upper body and face and made him appear wild and untamed. Braden now wore a saffron shirt with his kilt. The sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, showing thick black hair on his forearms.

  He appeared as any other Highlander, but Jean knew differently. She had seen the warrior he could become, had seen his unquenchable need for vengeance, both for himself and for his people.

  She would keep the image of him jumping from the boulder to save her forever in her memory. She had been prepared to die, but Braden hadn’t let her.

  Suddenly, he lifted his head and looked at her.

  Jean folded her hands and tried to calm the heart that now raced inside her chest. Being so near Braden affected her thoughts and her body in a way that had never happened to her before.

  It wasn’t just the power he wielded. It was more than his determination to right the wrongs done to their people.

  It was him – the bold, passionate, handsome man with the long, dark hair and the bright blue eyes – that stole her breath.

  She wanted to be near him, not because he had rescued her, but because she wanted to know this man who risked everything for his clan.

  “I was about to come see you and Colin. Is he well?”

  His voice, smooth and deep, made her skin tingle with awareness. She found herself wondering what it would be like to be his woman, to know the warmth of his lips and his tender touch. To hold him, touch him.

  Feel him.

  “For the moment,” she answered. “A fever has set in.”

  Braden’s jaw clenched as he glanced away. “Are there any herbs I can get for you? Anything that could help him?”

  “Only time and prayers can help him right now. I’ve cleaned the wound, used herbs to speed the healing, and stitched him. There is nothing more.”

  “Colin is a good man. I wouldna see him die.”

  Jean gave a small nod of her head. “Then I will leave you to your duties and return to mine. Sorry to have disturbed you.”

  She had turned and reached for the cloth to exit when his words halted her.

  “Thank you.”

  Jean looked back at Braden and lost herself in his blue eyes. There was something about him, something in the way he held himself, and spoke, and treated others, that made him a natural leader. He was young, but even the older, more experienced Highlanders followed him because they knew this young man was the answer to their prayers.

  “It is I should thank you. You’ve taken a stand against Niall when others wouldn’t dare.”

  Braden had known Jean would disrupt his life the moment he had set eyes on her. She was beautiful, headstrong, and unyielding.

  She was exactly the type of woman he would want for himself. If he had time for a woman.

  Her long light-brown hair was thick and straight, held away from her oval face in a braid that fell over her shoulder and came to rest beside her breast. She had skin the colour of cream and it was unblemished except for a small mole on the right side of her wide, full lips. Dark brows curved gently over large, expressive tawny eyes. Though she was of average height, she had the bountiful curves he had coveted at first sight. There was no doubt Jean MacKay had snatched his attention from the instant he saw her.

  She was a distraction he could ill afford. But one he couldn’t do without.

  In two strides, Braden was before her. He let the pads of his fingers stroke the barest of touches down her smooth cheek before he dropped his hand.

  How long had it been since he’d held a woman? Since he had felt warm flesh, touched silky skin, or kissed soft lips? How long had it been since he’d sunk between a woman’s thighs into her hot, wet heat?

  The aching need clawing his belly for Jean was enough to warn him to steer clear of the beauty. Though his mind told him to leave, his body – and his heart – urged him to stay.

  He was powerless to do anything but. Jean was like a bright ray of light in his dark, dreary world of death and vengeance.

  The hope he saw in her tawny eyes restored the fire inside him. He burned not just for a victory over Niall, but he burned for her.

  His hands itched to pull her against him. He wanted her body pressed tightly to his own. The need was so strong, so potent, that Braden found himself leaning towards her.

  He bit back a groan when he saw her eyes widen and her lips part. God help him but he was going to get his first taste of the stunning Jean MacKay.

  Their bodies were just breaths apart. The pulse at her neck was erratic and rapid, as if she too longed for the kiss. That knowledge made Braden’s hunger swell and intensify.

  Her hand brushed his as she leaned towards him. Braden slid his fingers between hers until their hands were clasped. He could feel the heat of her skin, hear the breath pass through her lips.

  Her gaze was fastened on his mouth, and it was all Braden could do not to crush her against him. The ache in his cock and the yearning, the longing, was too much to bear.

  He would have his kiss.

  He would have Jean.

  “Braden!”

  He bit back a curse. Jean turned away from him as Rory entered the tent. Braden glared at his friend.

  Rory looked from Braden to Jean and back again before he sent Braden an apologetic grimace.

  “What is it?” Braden asked.

  “The women and children of clan MacKay are once more with their families. They want to know when Jean will be returned.”

  “When I know Colin will survive,” she answered before Braden could.

  Braden looked at her before turning back to Rory. “Thank you for seeing them to their clan. You did tell them Jean was safe?”

  “Aye,” Rory said with a firm nod of his red head. “Her father, Laird MacKay, wasna pleased to hear she is here.”

  Braden felt as if he’d been punched in the stomach. How many times had he spoken with Laird MacKay? How many times had he been to their clan, sat inside the castle? But not once had he ever known the laird to have a daughter.

  He could only assume the laird had made sure Jean was nowhere near when Braden visited.

  Braden turned to Jean. “You’re Laird MacKay’s daughter?”

  She gave a small shrug and crossed her arms over her chest. “My father raised me to follow my heart and make the right choices. He knows I’m here because I want to be.”

  “Aye,” Rory said. “The old laird said much the same thing. He did give me a warning to pass to ye, Braden.”

  Braden sighed, knowing what was coming. “What might that be?”

  “He said that if one hair on her head is harmed, he’ll be coming for you.”

  MacKay was one man Braden wanted kept as a supporter. He did not need him as an adversary. But Braden’s hunger for Jean was going to be difficult to control.

  As if knowing his thoughts were on her, Jean said, “I need to return to Colin.”

  Braden watched the sway of her hips as she walked from his tent. His blood was on fire as need rode him hard, begged him to take the woman into his arms.

  “I’m no’ sure you should be dallying with MacKay’s daughter,”
Rory said.

  Braden faced his friend. “Aye. The lass isna for me.”

  “Good. Now, do you want the news on Niall?”

  Three

  Jean couldn’t stop herself from touching the spot on her cheek that Braden’s fingers had brushed. The contact had been so fleeting, so soft, that it was almost as if it hadn’t happened.

  But she had felt the stroke of his fingers, had felt the heat of his skin.

  It had left her shaken, dazed. His bright blue eyes had darkened with desire, and the not-so-firm grip Jean had on her control had vanished.

  All she had wanted was Braden’s kiss. She had yearned to know the taste of him, to feel the width and breath of his shoulders beneath her hands.

  Jean exhaled loudly and walked into the tent to see Keith still sitting beside Colin.

  “Lass, are you all right?” Keith asked, a frown marring his tanned face.

  Jean nodded. She feared she wouldn’t be able to speak, so she didn’t even try.

  “Nothing has changed. I had hoped he would shake off the fever by now.”

  Jean put her hand on Keith’s shoulder and squeezed. “One never knows with a fever. Colin is strong. He will be able to rid himself of the infection.”

  “I pray you’re correct,” Keith said as he rose to his feet. He looked at her a moment with shrewd, knowing eyes. “You’ve seen Braden.”

  “Aye. He was curious as to Colin’s recovery.”

  Keith grunted in response. “I’ll be near. Just let me know if you need anything.”

  Jean resumed her seat next to Colin and wrung out the cloth to dab along his heated skin. She had a feeling it was going to be a very long night.

  Braden rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. He’d been poring over the maps with Keith and Rory, hoping to discern where Niall had disappeared.

  “We almost had him,” Rory said.

  Braden slammed his hand on the table. “Almost isna good enough. He’s gone.”

  “We’ll find him,” Keith stated in his usual calm voice. “There aren’t many places he could have gone.”

  Braden began to chuckle. He realized there was only one place Niall could be. “He’s at MacAlister Castle.”